If You Can't Stand the Heat
by SilverBlood666
Summary: Those few weeks after being released from the hospital friends stay with Greg to make sure he's all right. He's not. Nick gets Greg drunk to get him to tell what happened when he was seventeen What happened that Greg is tormented by memories of a hospital
1. Chapter 1

_**If You Can't Stand the Heat...**_

**_Summary:_** (Set shortly after 'Play With Fire') Those few weeks after being released from the hospital, friends and coworkers stay with Greg to make sure he's all right. But he's not.

**_Type:_** Angst/General

**_Pairings:_** Greg/Nick implied (not quite slash, but we'll see.) You know, if Nick and Greg really DID… you-know-what… CSI would be back on top, making Grey's Anatomy its bitch!

**_Warnings:_** R for future chapters. Quite worksafe. ;)

**_Disclaimer:_** I own nothing. They all belong to the great Jerry Bruckheimer!! Obey! OBEEEY!!!

Appease the fanfiction gods and review!!! Kanpai!

* * *

"Mr. Sanders, your ride is here," an old blonde nurse told the young man laying in the hospital bed.

A week had gone by and Greg Sanders was finally allowed to go home. Behind the nurse, the lab rat could see a tall, black man in dark jeans and a grey sweatshirt standing in the doorway.

"Hey, Warrick," called Greg, his voice was still a little hoarse from the smoke inhalation.

"Yo, Sanders. How you feelin'?" he stepped into the mustard-yellow hospital room as the nurse left.

Greg slowly sat up, wincing at the ache in his back.

"Better than a few days ago," he replied, putting his bare feet on the cold floor.

About half an hour earlier, Greg had been informed that someone was coming to pick him up and take him home. With a nurse's help, he'd gotten dressed in his worn, comfy blue jeans, and his favorite black t-shirt that said, "My mommy thinks I'm special!"

"Yeah, man, you're 'special', all right," Warrick commented after reading the shirt.

Greg stuck his tongue out at his friend and stood up with a groan. There were still stitched in his back that itched like mad and took all his willpower not to scratch them out. They pulled a little when he flexed his shoulders.

Five days was far too long to spend in bed. He was ready to get out and have something real to eat.

"You look starved," Warrick observed, echoing the lab tech's thoughts. He watched the younger man gather the few possessions he had here.

Greg gave Warrick a bright smile, "Hospital food will do that to you."

Warrick grinned back.

"You ready to get out of here?"

"Oh, my god, yes!"

Warrick left the room for a moment and came back with a wheelchair.

"No way," Greg said, backing away.

"Have a seat."

The sandy blonde took a seat on the hospital bed, looking stubborn.

"In the chair, Greg."

"But I can walk!" whined the lab tech.

"Man, just get into the chair!" Warrick ordered, annoyed.

"But there's this old, **_old_** lady who the doctors are making walk everywhere! Give it her!"

Beneath the baggy sweatshirt, Warrick's muscles tightened.

"Get in the damn chair! It's not like to have to stay in it forever! Just until we get into the parking lot!"

An idea quickly hatched inside that spikey-haired head and he stood up again. Greg walked over and sat down in the wheelchair, backpack on his lap, much to Warrick's surprise.

"**_Thank_** you," he sighed, steering his young friend out of the room.

They went down the hall, Greg feeling like a fool for being in a wheelchair when he obviously didn't need one. He knew his face was red from embarrassment.

He brightened when he saw Mrs. O'Neal, the old lady across the hall from him. She was about thirty feet away from them, clutching her IV stand as she hobbled. Her white hair stuck out at ever angle from sleeping on it and her greenish hospital gown was wrinkled.

"Mrs. O'Neal!" he called.

There was no response, so Greg called again, louder. She looked up, startled. Then her face split into a warm, wide smile.

"Gregory! Are you leaving?" she asked, her voice ancient and shaky.

"Yeah, I'm getting out of here."

"Oh, well, that's nice, dearie," she rasped, stumbling a little.

"Are you going back to your room?" asked Greg.

Mrs. O'Neal nodded. Greg pulled the brakes on the wheelchair and stood up, ignoring his body's protests. He tossed his bag to the floor and and pulled the chair out of Warrick's disbelieving hands.

"Greg, what the -- ?"

"Here, have a seat," the lab tech offered kindly, bringing the chair up behind her.

Mrs. O'Neal sat down and looked up at the young man gratefully.

"Thank you! You're so polite!" she smiled sweetly. "Unlike my no good son!"

Greg grinned at her, nodding his thanks, " I don't think it's right that those doctors to make a young lady like you walk everywhere."

If possible, Mrs. O'Neal's smile grew wider.

Greg quickly escorted the old woman back to her room and said goodbye. When he returned to Warrick, he offered the larger man a sheepish grin that was met with a stony glare.

"Hey! She needed it more than I did!" Greg protested to an unsaid scolding.

Warrick pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes, and sighed.

"Whatever, man," he said, retrieving Greg's blue backpack from the floor. "Let's just get out of here."

"Fine by me."

He reached out to take his bag from Warrick, but he pulled it out of the lab tech's reach.

"If you're gonna walk, I'm carrying the bag."

"Fine," sighed Greg.

They walked down the hall, towards the elevators. Greg reached for the handle on the door to the stairs.

"Uh, Greg? What are you doing?"

The blonde looked up at his friend, "Going down the stairs?"

Warrick shook his head.

"Guess again," he said. At Greg's confused expression, he continued gently, placing a big hand on the uninjured part of his shoulder. "Don't try to move too fast, okay? You're body's still healing."

Discouraged, Greg looked at the floor. The last time he'd been in the hospital, he was seventeen and had arrived as helpless as a newborn baby. The tests, the smells, the medicine, the other screaming patients…Therapy took months…

He shuddered, instructing himself not to think of that time in his life.

Warrick noticed, feeling the shiver under his hand.

"You okay?" asked Warrick, guiding him into the elevator.

"Yeah, just thinking of the last time I was here," Greg mumbled watching the doors close.

The inside of the elevator was mirrored, so Greg could get a better idea how rough he looked. There were fading bruises on his face and a cut along his jaw. Combined with the 5 O'clock shadow (which he resolved to take care of ASAP), it made him look like he was in a dangerous knife fight. There were bandages around his upper arms, a bandage around his left wrist and one around the palm of his right hand.

"Hello? You in there?"

Once again, Greg was startled out of his concentration.

"What?"

"I just wondered what happened that sent you here before," replied Warrick with a shrug.

"Oh," Greg squirmed a little under the man intense gaze. "I'd, um, rather not talk about it, you know, if you don't mind."

That response earned Greg a funny look from Warrick, which he pretended not to notice, instead concentrating on clenching his shaking hands. He felt his nails digging into the skin and focused on that feeling until the elevator doors opened to the lobby.

Warrick stepped out, slinging Greg's backpack onto one shoulder. He looked around, located the reception area and pointed to it.

"Go sign out. I'll be right here," he said, sitting on a bench near the elevator to prove it.

Greg nodded once and made his way to the desk.

"Hi, do you think I could get the sign out papers?" he asked, looking for them on the desktop.

"Sure!"

The nurse sitting at the desk was a perky, pretty, young brunette, who smiled at Greg as she handed him the clipboard. She knew when to appreciate someone with looks of a hottie, even if he was a little banged up.

"Thanks," Greg said, handing it back once he was done.

He winked at her and gave her a (slightly forced) trademark Lab Rat Smile before following Warrick out to the parking lot. His mind wandered again, and he didn't say anything until they got to Warrick's silver SUV. The CSI chattered away about something, but Greg wasn't really listening.

"Greg!"

The one in question jumped, alert, now that he'd been dragged away from Dream World again.

"What?"

Warrick got right into Greg's face and looked him straight in his green eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked seriously. "That's the second time you've spaced out on me, man. Do we need to go back inside or something?"

"I'm fine. Just a little tired," Greg replied, surprised at Warrick's concern.

He didn't look convinced by the younger man's response, but he let the matter go. Warrick unlocked the car and the pair got in, throwing Greg's backpack into the backseat.

"Okay… Anyway, what I was sayin' was that someone's coming to stay with you for a couple days at a time while you're off work."

"What for?" asked the lab rat quietly, buckling his seatbelt.

The older man started the car and let it idle for a few seconds before answering.

"We want to make sure you're all right."

"Oh," Greg yawned, suddenly feeling exhausted.

They pulled out into the evening son and Warrick flipped the visor in front of him down. Greg followed the suit and let his hand drop heavily onto his thigh.

It was silent for a few minutes, the only sound being the radio, broadcasting some contest

"Hey, you want to stop for something to eat?" asked Warrick. He kept his eyes on the busy road, waiting for a reply. After a few seconds, he repeated the offer.

Everyone stopped for a read light and the CSI stole a glance at his passenger.

Greg was leaned against the door, head propped up on one hand. His eyes were close and his breathing was deep and even. The lab tech had fallen asleep.

Warrick smiled and turned the radio down as traffic began moving again.

The CSI eased his SUV into the parking lot, found a space and cut the engine.

"Greg, wake up," Warrick nudged the younger man gently.

His answer was a sleepy groan, so he tried again.

"Yo, Greggo! You're home!"

Still no response. How had the kid managed to fall so soundly asleep in a car in Vegas? But then again, this WAS Greg he was talking about…

Warrick sighed once. There were dark circles under Greg's eyes, indicating he hadn't gotten a whole lot of sleep in the past week.

"Okay, man, I guess we do it the kiddie way then," muttered Warrick, stretching to the backseat to grab Greg's bag.

He got out of the car, slinging it over his shoulders. He walked to the other side of the car and opened the door Greg was leaning on. Warrick caught him before he moved too much and picked him up, bridal style. He was surprised at how light the lab rat was.

Warrick bumped the door shut with his ass and set off towards the apartment building.

There was laughing coming from nearby. Warrick looked around until his eyes landed on four or five kids splashing each other in the complex pool. A boy of about nine or ten caught his attention.

The boy was hanging onto the edge of the pool, looking up at Warrick with big blue eyes.

"What happened to Greg?" he asked through the chain link fence. He pushed wet, blonde hair out of his face.

"He had an accident at work," Warrick replied, walking up the sidewalk.

Since the walkway and the pool were parallel to each other and three feet apart, the little boy was able to pull himself along the edge to keep up with Warrick.

"You takin' him home?" he asked, craning his neck to get a better look at Greg.

"Yup, he just needs some sleep."

"So he's gonna be okay?"

He'll be fine," Warrick assured the boy. He was coming up to the big, glass entrance doors and realized he was faced with a small problem. He looked at the kid in the pool, still treading water. "You want to help?"

"Sure!" the little boy replied brightly. Since the big man was carrying Greg so carefully and Greg didn't look like he was in any pain or distress, the kid figured big man was okay to talk to. "What can I do?"

"Can you open this door for me?" Warrick asked after pretending to think for a few moments.

In a flash of red and orange swimming trunks, the kid jumped out of the pool. He ran to the door and pushed it open.

"Thanks, buddy," Warrick replied. He knelt down so he was looking the kid full in the face, eye level. He shifted to make sure his knee wasn't gouging into Greg's back. "Now, can you do one more thing for me?"

The little boy, never taking his eyes off Greg's bruised face, nodded.

"Did you see the car we came in?" he asked.

Another nod.

"You think you can run over and grab my keys out of the slot?"

The kid nodded again and was gone in a flash.

Warrick shook his head. He must not have been thinking. He'd cut the engine, got out, closed the passenger-side door, but forgot to take his keys and shut his own door.

In his arms, Greg began to stir fitfully, coming a step closer to the waking world. Another minute went by, and just as Warrick was getting ready to go back outside and check on his helper, the boy came running back in , jangling the key in his small hand as if they were some sort of musical instrument.

The man stood up, groaning softly when his back protested. He outstretched his hand that was supporting Greg's knees and the boy hung one of the key rings on Warrick's index finger with a bright smile.

"So, when can I talk to Greg?" he asked, looking up mat the tall man.

Warrick couldn't help but smile back. "How about you try tomorrow?"

Blonde hair bobbed in agreement.

"What's your name, by the way?"

I'm Robert Chase and I'm eight and a half years old!" he stated, obviously proud.

"Well, Robert Chase, my name is Warrick Brown and I'll be sure to tell Greg who helped us out."

The boy positively beamed before running off down the hall, probably back to the pool to tell his friends.

Warrick walked to the other end of the hallway and stopped at Apt. 7A. He fumbled a little with his keys, but managed to insert the correct one into the lock. The CSI opened the door, walked into the living room and set Greg down on the overstuffed, blue couch. There was a red, flannel blanket draped over the back that Warrick covered his friend with.

As he was shrugging the backpack off, a tinny ring tone floated out of his pocket. He pulled his cell phone out and read the display. Stokes. He flipped it open.

"Brown," he answered automatically.

"_Hey, man,"_ came Nick's voice. _"Where are you?"_

"Yo. Just got to Greg' place."

"_Yeah? How is he?"_

"Fine, I guess. He fell asleep on the ride home. He kinda spaced out on me a couple times though," he wasn't sure why he added that, but felt like it was important.

"_Spaced out how?"_ the worry was evident in the Texan drawl, and Warrick was sorry he'd mentioned it.

Warrick looked around the living room at the band posters. Marilyn Manson, Linkin Park, Black Sabbath, even some Tool and Ozzy.

"Just went kind of quiet. He told me he was remembering the last time he was at a hospital," he replied, thinking how the lab tech's face had paled a little.

"_Doesn't sound too bad,"_ Nick's voice was thoughtful now.

"I guess," Warrick wandered into the kitchen, noting the scrubbed, round table and shiny silver refrigerator. "Where are you, anyway?"

"_On my way over, like I'm supposed to."_

In the break room yesterday, they'd all figured out a schedule for the next couple of weeks to help them remember who was staying with Greg and on what days. They had a little drawing and Nick was up first, though he wasn't available to retrieve his friend from the hospital.

"All right. See you in a few."

"_See ya."_

There was a click on the other end of the line and then a dial tone. Warrick snapped the phone shut and put it away.

He went back into the living room and took a seat in a green recliner. Curiosity was screaming at him to check out the rest of Greg's apartment, but respect for his friend kept him seated. Instead, he looked around the living room again.

The lights were still off, but the nearly set sun threw just enough illumination into the room to show another recliner. It was red and green plaid. There was a nice (real nice) television with a three-foot by two-foot flatscreen against the wall opposite the couch Greg was laying on. The entertainment center containing it also his a wicked stereo system with speakers hidden throught the room.

There were three DVDs on the mahogany coffee table in front of the couch. Two looked brand new, while the other was a rental. Warrick picked that one up to read the spine: Brokeback Mountain.

"Oh, you _gotta _be kidding me…" he muttered, replacing the DVD.

There was a soft knock on the door, and Warrick got up to look through the peephole. The face was rounded and distorted, but easily recognizable.

"Hey, Nick," he greeted, allowing the door to swing open.

"Yo," the Texan walked in.

Warrick took one last glance at Greg.

I put his pain pills in the kitchen. Make sure he takes one tonight, whether he says he's fine or not," Warrick instructed.

Nick nodded. "He eat anything yet?"

"Nope, he fell asleep before I could ask if he wanted to stop somewhere."

"Okay."

"All right then, I'm gonna get outta here. See you back at the lab whenever."

The pair performed some sort of complicated handshake and Warrick left, locking the door behind him.

Nick took up Warrick's former post in the green recliner and got a good look at the sleeping lab tech.

Greg's face was still pretty banged up, but it looked a lot better than last Nick saw at the hospital.

The Texan glanced around the room. His eyes were instantly drawn to the DVDs on the coffee table. He picked them up to read the titles.

Stark Raving Mad.

Sleepy Hollow.

…Brokeback Mountain. He turned the box over to read the summary on the back and didn't notice his face twisting into grimace.

"Gotta problem with the movies I watch?" a sleepy voice asked.

Nick's feature shifted quickly back into neutral mode when he looked at Greg. He held the DVD up.

"Brokeback Mountain?" he asked. "Come on, G."

Greg sat up slowly, wincing when the stitches in his back pulled.

"I liked it. Not many people know this, but I'm a sucker for a good romance," he yawned, scratching under the bandage on his hand.

"But a gay cowboy movie?"

"Dude, you don't have to watch it," Greg stated, sounding a little defensive. "It was a lot more than a 'gay cowboy movie'."

He ran a hand through his already out of control hair, making blonde and brown spikes stick up. Nick replaced the DVDs and settled back into the recliner.

"You hungry?" he asked.

Greg shrugged a little, not quite up to another conversation. He was still exhausted and the stench of the hospital was still in his nose.

"Not overly," he admitted, glancing down at the backpack near his feet, loking thoughtful.

He grabbed it by the shoulder strap and eased it up next to him. He unzipped it and began rooting around for something inside while Nick watched.

"What are you looking for?" he finally asked when Greg turned the bag upside down and dumped the contents.

The lab tech sorted through the mess of clothes and personal hygiene items.

"My painkillers."

"Oh," Nick said, standing up. "Where do you keep your glasses?"

Not looking up, Greg answered, "In the cupboard, over the sink."

He heard the cupboard close, then running water and Nick came back.

"Here, Warrick put them in the kitchen by the sink."

He handed the lab rat the glass of water and two red-and-blue tablets, which the younger man took and swallowed gratefully.

"Thanks," he said, and then looked puzzled. He sniffed the air. "D… does it smell… sterile in here?"

Nick took an experimental whiff, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. If anything, the apartment smelled a little musty from being shut up for a week. He shook his head. Greg stood up, despite his friend's weak protests.

He went down the hall and into the bathroom. For some reason, Greg's heart was racing and his palms were sweaty. He fell to his knees in front of the sink and pulled the smooth, white cupboard open. With trembling hands, Greg threw towels, washcloths and cleansers aside, ignoring his body's painful screams to stop moving.

After what seemed like forever, Greg pulled at can of air freshener out and fumbled at the trigger.

"Come on. Come _on_," he mumbled, fighting with the object.

A noise was growing in his ears, sounding like buzzing at first.

He swore at the aerosol can as the buzzing grew louder.

And louder.

Louder. _LOUDER._

The buzzing transformed seamlessly into screaming. Greg dropped the air freshener to the floor with a clatter and clapped his hands over his ears. Closing his eyes, he saw a flash of white in his mind, accompanied by a writhing body on a narrow, white bed.

Then everything went black.

* * *

TBC… 

_Review, or evil, flesh-eating, zombie-alien babies will get you in your sleep! Thanks! Sleep tight!_


	2. Chapter 2

If You Can't Stand the Heat… - Chapter Two 

**_Author's Notes: _**Thanks for the lovely reviews! It actually took a few days to type that up! Thank you! Thank you!! Thank you!!! Squee! (And I'm not putting warnings up anymore. I don't give a damn about them and they take away from the suspense!)

_**Disclaimer:**_ Jerry Bruckheimer. Prolly mangled the last name, but didn't feel like looking it up. You get the point, ne? 

"_You ever have a day when you wake up thinking you're a magical, mystical wizard?" Harland Williams_

* * *

"Greg!" Nick ran into the bathroom when he heard a loud, metallic crash. He arrived in time to watch his friend clamp his hands over his ears. His eyes closed tight and he seemed to be struggling against something.

"Greg!" he said again, louder, hoping to snap him out of it.

Nick let out an involuntary gasp when Greg slumped back against the tub behind him.

"Holy sh-! Greg!" Nick rushed over, dropping to his knees next to his friend.

The younger man stirred a little when Nick shook him. His heart was pounding somewhere in his throat when Greg's eyes fluttered open and blind panic was in them. They landed on Nick, who was pale and breathing a little heavily.

Greg scanned the rest of the bathroom, then spun around to look in the tub. When he found nothing, he faced Nick again, looking up at him through glittering, tear-filled eyes.

"W-who was screaming?" he asked, voice trembling.

Greg took hold of Nick's shoulders with as he questioned him. Even though his hands were clenched, Nick could still feel them shaking.

"G, no one was screaming," he replied gently.

"No, there _was_ someone…" continued Greg, helplessly. He looked around the bathroom again, as if to prove his point.

"Greg, we're the only ones here," assured Nick.

"But…" his voice trailed off and the lab tech looked defeated. "I _heard_ it… so clearly…"

He didn't make eye contact when he spoke again. He looked at the tiled bathroom floor, shame in his green eyes.

"D-don't tell anyone about this, okay?" he mumbled. "This is my problem."

"Sure, no problem," Nick said, thoroughly confused.

Greg let go of his friend's shoulders and brought his hands down to look at them properly. He laughed bitterly at the tremors that ran through them. He balled them into fists, then unclenched them, palms up. Greg did it a few more times before sighing in disgust.

"So much for the past staying put," Greg said under his breath, before realizing he said it aloud.

"What?" Nick caught something about a 'past'.

The younger man shook his head.

"It's nothing," he said, reaching for the air freshener again.

This time, with a little more control and a lot less panic, Greg pushed the little button down to emit a spray of sage and jasmine.

Later, they wound up ordering Chinese food; even though Greg claimed that he wasn't hungry. They sat on the couch, watching Stark Raving Mad.

Neither of them said anything about Greg's episode and that was just dandy with the lab tech. Nick didn't say anything, and Greg didn't volunteer any new information.

"So, there's no _way_ that chick is sixteen!" Nick exclaimed, watching the girl's father beat the hell out of one of the main characters.

Greg nodded, grinning when the character yelled, _"I swear to god, Ben! She said she was seventeen!"_

"More like 21," Nick commented, taking another bite of his sweet-and-sour chicken.

The Texan clicked his chopsticks together, not noticing that Greg was having minor difficulties with his fork. His box was a little more than half full of chicken fried rice. He was losing interest in the movie quickly and he was becoming tired again.

His eyelids began to droop a little and he set his box on his knee to avoid moving. Greg's eyes closed completely and he just listened to the flick.

Nick looked at his friend for a minute. He was still wrapped in the blanket, sitting cross-legged on the couch. His food was precariously perched on his knee, wobbling every once in a while.

"G."

Greg snapped to alert at the voice, spilling some rice.

"I'm awake," he said automatically.

"You ready for bed, man?" Nick asked, smiling at his friend.

The lab rat yawned before he could stop himself and fixed Nick a small grin.

"I guess so," he replied.

Greg fought the urge to stretch his aching shoulders. He tried to ignore it as best he could, not ready to take another painkiller. He glanced at the clock above the TV. It read 11:13pm.

"Well, if you need anything, help yourself. Blankets and extra pillows are in the hall closet next to the bathroom," he told his friend.

The Texan nodded, then watched as Greg took his leftovers to the kitchen. When he came back, he started towards the hallway and stopped just before he reached it. He didn't turn around when he spoke.

"Nick?" there was a note of sadness to Greg's voice.

"Yeah?" he replied, tearing his attention away from the movie.

"Thanks," he began. "For staying to _baby-sit_ me."

"Man, it's not baby-sitting unless you're getting paid," Nick said, smiling when Greg actually chuckled. "It's more like hanging out. A sleepover but without the pillow fight."

"Aw, damn. Here I was gonna go get the pillows, too," sighed Greg, turning so Nick could see his grin.

'_That sounds like the old Greg,'_ the Texan thought, noting that the touch of sadness disappeared.

Little did Nick know, as Greg did his bathroom routine of brushing his teeth and peeing, that part of the 'old Greg' seemed to die in the lab explosion. What was left was a scared young man putting on a brave front. The future CSI walked down the dark hallway, shedding his t-shirt and tossing it down on his bedroom floor.

He changed into his pajamas, turned down the covers on his bed and sat down, looking at his hands, palms up. The light was off, but in a far corner, there was a nightlight in the corner to keep the monsters away. It was enough to let him see all four walls (covered with posters, band t-shirts and other paraphernalia), his dresser next to the door and his bed.

The light was also enough for Greg to watch his trembling hands, as he pulled his legs up to sit Indian-style on his bed.

'_They're horrible,'_ he laughed to himself, silently and bitterly.

Greg balled his hands in and out of fists before he turned the shaking appendages over.

'_They shook last time, too,'_ Greg realized. _'The day I woke up and for months afterwards.'_

He shook his head, as if trying to jar the memories loose and let them tumble out of his ear. Of course, it didn't happen, but it was worth a try.

Greg sighed softly and lay down, burrowing under his blankets. He shoved his hands under his pillow and closed his eyes. Before he knew it, Greg's exhausted body and mind shut down for the night.

"_Greggo," someone across the bedroom said._

_The voice had a pleasant, southern twang to it that was familiar. He opened his eyes to see a shadowed face above his own._

"_Hey, Nick," he said, sitting up and confused. "What's up?"_

"_Who the hell is Nick?" the person demanded, grabbing Greg by his shoulders. Stitches pulled, making the lab tech groan. "Don't tell me you've forgotten about me so quickly!" the voice was psychotically cheerful when he said this._

"_Oh… shit," Greg voice was a terrified whisper, little more than a croak._

"_Come on, Greggy, you really forgot your favorite playmate so soon?"_

_He drew a shaky breath, trying to calm himself down. Greg still couldn't see the face, though the tone and accent of the voice was unmistakable. _

"_K…Kent Kramer." _

_One hand that had been on Greg's shoulder came up to grasp his jaw gently, but firm enough to hold the younger man's head in place._

"_That's right. Good boy," the man now recognized as Kent Kramer drew the spiky-haired man closer and captured Greg's lips in a bruising, possessive kiss that had him fighting._

"_I love it when you struggle," Kramer said huskily, pulling away._

_He pushed Greg back down and straddled him, kissing his neck._

"_Get off," whispered Greg, closing his eyes against the assault. _

_He tried to buck the other man off, but he just pressed his hips down on him so he couldn't move. Somewhere between his shoulder and throat, Kent laughed softly. One of his hands began to roam south, while the other pinned the younger man's hands above his head._

_He slipped his hand under the waistband of the lab rat's pajama pants, giving way to a new struggle._

"No!" Greg sat bolt upright, yelling when his injuries forced his movements to stop. He was breathing heavily, in an icy sweat. He looked around the room wildly. His eyes landed on a broad-shouldered figure sitting at the end of his bed.

Instinctively, Greg pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them, eyes never leaving the shadow five feet away.

"You okay, G?" asked the person.

Greg visibly flinched. Southern twang, different tone. Not Kent Kramer. Was Nick Stokes. The realization allowed him to breathe easier.

"That musta been one helluva dream, man," Nick said, moving to sit next to him on the bed. He was holding a glass in one hand and something else in one hand, and something else in the other.

Greg nodded once, still concentrating on how to breathe properly instead of hyperventilating.

"Who's Kent Kramer?" the Texan asked, peering into Greg's eyes intently.

Greg's heart nearly stopped when he heard the name from someone else's mouth and it took him a moment to answer. When he did, his voice was that of a scared child's.

"H-he's… No one," Greg spoke haltingly, looking away from Nick and embarrassed to be caught talking in his sleep.

"Okay, but sometimes it helps to talk about your dreams," Nick shrugged, making it look as if he really was unconcerned.

"Some nightmares are better left alone," Greg said, looking off into space with haunted eyes.

The other man wasn't convinced, but appeared to let the matter go.

"Lay on your stomach for me, will you?" asked Nick.

"Stomach… Um, _why?"_

The bigger man held up what was in his left hand; a bottle of prescription skin lotion. Greg looked at it questionably.

"For the stitches."

Oh. Without further questioning, Greg obliged, rolling tenderly onto his stomach to expose his bare back to Nick. He settled down and shivered slightly when Nick's hands brushed against his sore skin.

"Sorry if this hurts," said Nick, pushing his sleeves up on his black shirt. "But I completely spaced out about it earlier."

"Don't worry about it. It's fine, man," replied Greg into his pillow.

Nick surveyed his friend's bare back, noting the yellowish fading bruises all over. There were eight or nine cuts and gashes, and all were in various stages of healing, depending on the depth of the injuries. There were still a few covered by square, gauze bandages. Others had fallen off.

The taller man squeezed a little lotion into the palm of his hand and targeted a long cut on Greg's right shoulder blade. He dabbed a little onto a finger and traced it over the rough, black stitching.

"Jesus, Nick, your hands are freezing!" mumbled the lab tech, shivering again.

"Heh, sorry. Not much I can do about it right now, though," the CSI laughed softly.

Nick rubbed a bit of lotion onto another cut, when he felt Greg begin to relax.

After a few minutes, Nick was happy to see Greg fall into a comfortable, sleepy state. He felt the bed shift when Nick stood up. Before he went through the bedroom door, Greg spoke, from the bottom of his heart.

"Thank you, Nick."

"No problem," Nick gave him a bright smile and left.

And a couple of minutes later, Greg fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

_Yay! Chapter Two is up!_


	3. Chapter 3

_If You Can't Stand the Heat… - Chapter Three_

**_Author's Notes:_** Sorry guys. I wrote the story down in highlighter. And guess what. It got wet, so there's a paragraph that's not all the way there. See, I thought it was a good idea at the time. You know, mix up the colors instead of writing in just blue or black ink? Yeah, guess not. I guess I'll do my best.

**_Disclaimer:_** yadda yadda yadda mumbles "own nothing" Good enough::lawyers nod:: Good. On with the story then.

**_Note: _**Thanks to _FaithfulPureLight_. You have her to thank for this next chapter because she IM'd me, pretty much told me to get my ass in gear and get this thing posted. Thanks for al the lovely reviews! And no, it's not Kramer from Seinfeld. If it was, this story would be rated higher because he's scarier than my bad guy:

* * *

Despite the nearly full night's sleep, Greg still felt tired to the bone the next morning. He and Nick ate breakfast with little conversation on the lab rat's part. He was still thinking of his nightmares from last night. It had been a _long_ time since he'd last thought of Kent Kramer.

"You want to talk about it yet?" asked Nick, spooning up the last of his oatmeal.

Greg poked at the runny remains of his scrambled eggs (he knew he hadn't cooked them long enough) and shook his head negatively. He appreciated that Nick didn't push the subject anymore.

"So, what do you want to do today?" Nick wondered. He tried to ignore how pale his friend's face was.

Now the DNA tech shrugged, still not looking directly at the other man. Mostly, he'd like to just chill out at home with a good book and a favorite CD.

"What do you wanna do?" countered Greg, pushing his plate away.

Nick got up and took his bowl to the sink, followed by Greg's plate, despite his protests that he could do it later. The Texan rinsed off the dishes and put them into the dishwasher.

"How about just hanging out here for the day?" Nick suggested, coming back to the table to sit down.

"I'm afraid I may not be much in the ways of company though," Greg admitted.

"Why's that?"

"'Cause there's this book I'm reading and I'm at the best part…"

Nick smiled.

"What kind of book is it?" he asked.

"It's called 'Dragon Rider'," replied Greg, a little hesitantly. (It _was_ a kid's book, after all…)

He stood up, grabbing his glass and ignoring Nick's quizzical look until the other man actually asked what it was about.

"There's this orphan boy who has to go on an adventure to save all the dragons in the world by finding a place for them to live safely," he explained, inwardly wincing when Nick's smile grew.

To avoid looking at him, Greg got into the refrigerator and refilled his glass with orange juice. Since they'd cleaned as they went while making breakfast, there wasn't much to do in the kitchen other than leave it.

Nick took over the TV, putting it on some action movie so fast, Greg thought he must have already known it would be on. Greg set his drink down on the coffee table next to his usual recliner and grabbed the ugly, brown-and-orange knit afghan from the back of the chair. He wrapped himself in it, crashed into his seat and made himself comfy. His book magically found its way into his hands and he quickly became part of a world of dragons, magic, brownie and talking rats.

He was just coming to the part where Ben, Sorrel, and Firedrake found the Rim of Heaven when a loud explosion caused him to jump, flinching violently and covering half his face with the book when he saw the TV screen was engulfed in flames. Thankfully, Nick was to into Tom Cruise's Mission: Impossible to notice.

Greg shut his eyes for a moment and forced himself to breathe normally and ignore the sensation of being slammed against a very solid wall. He told himself that it was jusyt a memory, done and over with. It helped, enough so that when he opened his eyes, he could see reality.

And Nick's face inches away from his own. Greg let out a startled yelp and leaned back, but Nick didn't move. Instead, he studied the younger man intensely.

"G, are you okay?" he asked, the worry evident in his voice.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Greg said quickly. Too quickly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." That was when Greg noticed the credits scrolling on the TV screen. "I guess I must've dozed off."

"Maybe," Nick didn't sound too sure though.

"How long was I out?" yawned the lab tech. "The last thing I remember was an explosion."

Nick thought for a minute before saying that that was nearly thirty minutes ago. The time lapse unnerved Greg a bit. He thought he was only out for a few minutes, but he said nothing. Instead, he put on a tired smile.

"Guess I didn't get as much sleep as I thought last night," Greg said, trying to sound normal. Again, he ignored the expression from his friend and glanced at his watch to avoid looking at Nick. It read 11:36 AM.

"Slow day," he murmured, going back to his book.

Greg read the same sentence five times before Nick went back to channel surfing.

* * *

He was right about how slow the day was going to drag on. It felt like it was supposed to be seven o'clock in the evening when it was really only three o'clock. He slammed his book closed in frustration and lurched out of his chair with a groan. He paced for a few minutes.

If he'd have been home alone, he might have gone to the library for a couple hours, or even risking a trip to the gym to work out all this pent-up energy. Anything was better than sitting around all day.

"What's up, Greg?" Nick asked him.

Irritated, the younger man shook his head, "I don't know. Restlessness, maybe."

"You want to go out and do something?"

Greg looked at Nick.

"Like what?"

"C'mon, G! This is Vegas! Think of something."

Although, really, what Nick wanted to do involved Greg laying down and getting some much needed rest. There were still dark circles under the other man's red-rimmed eyes. He looked like he might pop out of his skin at any moment. He was acting weird. Well, weirder than usual.

The lab tech flopped back into his chair gracelessly, looking defeated. He winced at the tightness in his back and shoulders, but said nothing. He really _didn't_ know what he wanted to do and was tempted to just go back to bed and stay there.

Ugh, time was just going so _SLOW!!!_

"I need a drink," he muttered to himself.

He got up and trudged to the kitchen to see what was left of the six-pack he'd bought last week.

"Nnn…" he groaned and let his head thunk against the freezer door. It was gone. The empty case still sat on the bottom shelf in the fridge.

"Greg?" called Nick when he heard the thud.

"I'm fine!" he answered the unanswered question for the sixth or seventh time that day. He knew it would be asked again though.

Greg got back to the living room and lowered himself into his seat, gritting his teeth against a surprising shock of pain that radiated from his shoulder blades. He went dead still until it faded.

"Hey, are you--?"

"Don't say it!" Greg snapped, "Don't ask if I'm okay!"

To Greg's horror, his eyes went blurry with unshed tears. He swore loudly as he looked away from his friend's concerned, but distorted face and brought a fist down on the arm of the chair. He snatched the corner of his afghan and rubbed his eyes with it.

Nic could only watch as all this happened in front of him.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked quietly.

It was a moment before Greg replied with a negative shake of his head.

"I… must still be tired," he lied, his eyes everywhere except on Nick.

"Okay…" the Texan would go along with the obvious lie for the time being. "Why don't you go on back to bed and I'll bring you in some Tylenol in a couple hours?"

Greg nodded miserably. Gathering his blanket and book. He left the glass of orange juice on the coffee table, forgotten. Nick watched his friend drag himself to his bedroom down the hall and close his door.

Nick pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and looked at it. He hesitated for a moment and then flipped it open.

It would be a long shot, but it was possible that his supervisor would still be at the lab…

* * *

TBC… 


	4. Chapter 4

_If You Can't Stand the Heat… - Chapter Four_

**_Author's Notes:_** .Thank you for the reviews! And I know my legal information isn't right about stays in prison and parole and stuff, but I live in Ohio and this takes place in Las Vegas. If it's not right, then I don't care. It's my story, so please don't flame and tell me I'm stupid for being wrong. Like my buddy Stephen King said, "I'm a lazy researcher." XP Thanks!

**_Disclaimer:_** Nothin'.

* * *

In an office full of bugs and slimy dead things, an older man was reading Science Journal. He flipped through the ads to get to the article he was looking for. It was about Japanese Dancing Beetles. 

Gil Grissom's cell phone began to chirp and vibrate on his desk. The display screen lit up to announce 'Stokes'.

"Grissom," he answered.

"_Hey, got a minute?" _his CSI's voice sounded nervous on the line and Grissom immediately tuned into it. He set down his magazine to give Nick his full attention.

"Yes. What's wrong? Are you alright?"

"_Yeah, I'm fine. It's Greg I'm worried about," _said Nick.

"Is he okay?"

"_I… um… kinda don't know. He's been acting funny ever since yesterday."_

"Nick, he just got out of the hospital. Maybe he's having a little trouble adjusting to being home." suggested Grissom, eyeing his fallen magazine.

"_Yeah, I know, but…"_ Nick let his voice trail off.

"But…?" the supervisor prompted.

Nick sighed over the phone and Grissom could almost see him rubbing a hand along the back of his head in frustration.

"_Gris, he had this nightmare last night. A bad one. Thrashing and screaming, the whole bit. And he mentioned a name, Kent Kramer. Do you know it?"_

Grissom let the name roll around in his mind for a moment, but he drew a blank. Anyway, the name could have been simply a part of the dream. On the other hand… it couldn't hurt to check it out.

"I haven't heard it, but I can check to see if it's in any of the databases."

"_Thanks,"_ Nick said, relief flooding his voice. _"Hey, Grissom?"_

"Yes?"

"_Please don't tell anyone else about this?"_ he pleaded and Grissom was a little surprised at the note of desperation coming from the Texan. _"I told Greg I wouldn't tell anyone, but I'm worried."_

"Of course," replied Grissom. "I'll call you back."

"_Thanks again, man."_

Grissom flipped his phone shut and let out a thoughtful "hmm" as he stood up. He glanced back down at his magazine once before leaving his office to check out Kent Kramer.

* * *

Another action-packed movie later (and no phone call), Nick went to the kitchen and shook a couple of prescription painkillers into the palm of his hand. He filled a glass of water from the tap. 

He cracked Greg's bedroom door open and peeked inside. The lab tech's slight frame was half covered with the black comforter and he was hugging a pillow and the blanket from the living room tightly. His eyes were red and puffy, along with his nose.

"Greg, you awake, buddy?" he asked softly.

"No," the younger man's voice was little more than a croak.

Nick hid a smile and put the water and medicine down on his bedside table.

"I'll just leave this here for when you wake up then."

"Thanks."

And Nick left.

Almost as soon as he got back into the living room, Nick's cell phone began vibrate. He pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the display. Grissom. He flipped it open.

"Stokes."

"_Nick, Kent Kramer: convicted of armed robbery, assault and rape. 6/24/93. Was in prison for fifteen years and is out on parole. The details were a bit sketchy, but it seems that Greg wasn't the only one involved."_

"And how _was_ he involved?" asked Nick.

"_He was a victim. One of the few they left alive of a group of twenty-two men, women and children. Apparently, the robbery was very professional. The cameras were disabled upon arrival. No one other than Kramer was arrested and he was caught on DNA charges."_

"Okay, thank you, Grissom. I mean it. I'm worried."

"_We all are, Nick. Take care of him and call if you need anything else."_

"Thanks." Nick said into the phone and he hung up.

"Who was that?" Greg's voice came from the bedroom.

"Warrick, updating me on our case," Nick lied, hoping he hadn't heard his end of the conversation.

"Oh," after that, the lab tech was quiet.

"Hey, I know this isn't going to sound very responsible, especially since you're on these painkillers, but I noticed the empty beer case. You want me to run out for more? You're out of bread, too." he called towards the hall.

"Yeah, if you want. There's some money in the drawer under the sink."

"All right. You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be all right on my own for a while," Greg assured him.

"Okay, I'll be back in a little while. Call if you need me."

Nick made sure his wallet was in his back pocket, his phone was with him and he put n his jacket. He left without saying anything more.

It was like the front door closing was a trigger. As soon as it clicked shut, Greg fell asleep. His pillow was still wet with tears when his eyes closed, opening a new pathway for the nightmares.

_He was in a dark room. Greg had no way of knowing how big it was, but it seemed familiar. He tried to move after realizing that he was laying down. He couldn't budge._

"_Hello?" his voice echoed loudly, replying to him._

_He listened for a moment before trying again._

"_Is anyone there?" he called._

_Again, there was silence after the echo stopped._

_A small light suddenly flashed in his face. He blinked. Greg found himself laying on a small, hard cot with his wrists in restraints above his head. He tried to move his legs, saw that they were also restrained. _

"_Hello?!" Greg's voice came out high and panicked._

_His heart beat wildly in his throat and his breathing was coming in shallow gasps._

"_Come on! This isn't funny!" he yelled to the echo._

_The light flickered and Greg prayed for it to stay on. _

"_Greggy…" came a sinister voice. One instantly recognized._

"_Oh, no…" the lab rat moaned in terror when a well-known shadow appeared at the end of the cot._

"_Hello, Gregory," he said. "How are we feeling today?"_

"_F-fine, thanks," Greg replied, trying to keep himself steady. The stutter was noticeable, but otherwise he seemed fine. Other than terrified, anyway. He remembered what happened last time he wasn't polite to this monster._

_A hand gripped Greg's bare foot firmly and began rubbing it. His skin crawled. _

"_Please stop," he said, voice breaking. He tried to move his leg away, but the restraints were doing their job well._

"_Come on, Gregory. I thought you missed me," the figure said. _

_The hand slid up Greg's calf, making the muscles tense. It moved up to his thigh._

"_Please…" it felt like spiders were scuttling up and down his arms and legs. His stomach leapt into his throat as the hand went higher._

"Greg. Greg!"

"What?!" he demanded, coming awake with a violent jerk. His eyes landed on a square-jawed face.

"Just wanted to see if you were hungry," Nick said a little awkwardly, covering up his relief when Greg came out of another bad dream. He didn't tell him he'd been talking in his sleep again.

In his hands, he held a steaming pizza box from the place down the street.

"Oh, um, sure," Greg sat up, rubbing his eyes. Of course his hair stuck up wildly.

He tossed the blankets off and stood up, groaning softly.

"Did you take those painkillers?"

"Yeah," Greg gestured back to the half empty glass of water. "I'm feeling a little loopy right this second though."

'_I'll bet, after a dream like that,'_ though Nick, but he didn't say it out loud.

They walked out to the living room, Nick with the box, Greg with his afghan. The pair sat down on the floor and the pizza went on the coffee table. It was set with paper plates, a roll of paper towels and beer.

"You've been busy," Greg observed.

Nick shrugged, setting the pizza box down. He opened it and selected a piece, wrapping a strand of melted cheese around a finger as it stretched.

"Not really. You were just out for a while," he said.

"How long is 'a while'?" asked Greg, taking a slice for himself.

"Couple hours, maybe, I came back from the store, checked on you and, then watched some TV. After while, I just ordered a pizza and then woke you up when it got here."

Greg said nothing as he chewed on his pizza. He glanced at his watch. 6:46 pm. A couple hours, indeed.

He popped open his beer, wondering briefly if he should be mixing alcohol with his medicine.

'_It was a few hours ago,'_ he reasoned before taking a healthy swig of it.

"So, what are we watching?" Greg asked, seeing that the TV was showing a heavy guy in pink-and-blue Spandex trying to ride a moose. He cringed mentally at the sight.

"No clue," Nick replied, having the same reaction to the man in Spandex.

"Well, screw this," Greg said, tossing his food onto the paper plate. He got to his knees and crawled over the entertainment center.

The lab rat rummaged around for a minute before pulling out a wad of cords and plugs. A PS2, two controllers and a large stack of games appeared. Mostly they were sci-fi, fantasy and a couple of sports games.

Nick watched without comment as Greg began to hook up the plugs with a practiced air. When he was finished, Greg turned to him with a bright smile.

"NFL or Star Wars Battlefront?" he asked.

* * *

TBC… 

NEXT CHAPTER: Pointless swearing, unlimited lives and a deep, dark secret…


	5. Chapter 5

_If You Can't Stand the Heat… - Chapter Five_

**_Author's Note:_** I'm not gonna answer all the reviews, but arigato!!! I read in one of them that Kramer creeped someone out, and my heart just smiled. I'm really happy that he did! XDDD

**_Disclaimer:_** You know I don't own anything other than Kent Kramer, and I'm proud as fuck that I do:big, evil, toothy grin:

**_Note:_** Sorry it's so short, but it'll be okay.

* * *

A couple hours, later, empty beer bottles and an empty, grease-stained pizza box littered the living room. Two men sat on the floor, jerking spasmodically when on of their characters died.

"Ah, damn it! I **_SO_** had that guy!" Nick yelled, falling backwards.

"Yeah, thanks for leaving me alone with him!" Greg yelped when laser beams started firing on him. Greg twitched violently as he started firing back. A shot that he'd never admit was luck managed to hit the bad guy. The PS2 controller vibrated when the robot exploded in a shower of sparks. He sat there for a spilt second, shocked. Then- "Whoot!! Uh huh! Uh huh! I rule!"

Greg did a little victory dance while seated.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. You've played this game before," grumbled Nick. He popped the last bit of pizza crust in his mouth and chew, looking a little peeved.

"Did you not see me take the shrink wrap off before we started playing?" Greg helpfully pointed out the clear plastic that was still laying on the floor. "Normally, that means it's brand new."

"Ever hear of a rental?" countered Nick. He stuck his tongue out at his friend, who crossed his eyes back.

"You have a point though," the lab tech said, when his face was back to normal.

He turned around to grab another beer. They'd taken them out of the fridge for easier access. Greg popped the tab and took a pull while they waited for the next level to load.

This one was his fourth (or fifth) beer and he was feeling quite happy and pleased with himself as they blasted their way through alien scum and giant robots who had nothing better to do than attack a couple of Jedi.

"Ugh, which one am I, again?" Nick squinted at the TV.

"Move around a little and you'll see," Greg replied, engaged in his own epic battle with the wall. Snarling, he backed away, just as they both were ambushed by pink-skinned, two-headed, four-armed aliens. All four hands held a laser blaster.

Nick and Greg went into a button mashing frenzy on cue, firing lasers and swinging energy blades.

"Ah, _damn it!_ I was watching your guy_ again!"_ the Texan swore, narrowly avoiding another explosion.

"You're the green guy! I'm the blue guy! It's been like that for the last two hours!" Greg exclaimed. A stray laser hit something off screen and an explosion engulfed them both. They groaned and tossed down their controllers as the TV flashed the dreaded words: GAME OVER!

"I never got this far before," Greg said, taking another pull from his half-empty can of beer.

Nick gave him a look.

"I thought you said you never played this before," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Rented it once."

"Aw, dude, you lied!" Nick reached over and gave the younger man a playful punch in the arm, careful of his other injuries.

"Hah, yeah," Greg chuckled, sounding much more like his old self. He rubbed the spot. "Couldn't get past this level then, either."

He leaned back against the folded-down footstool of his chair, trying to decide if he felt like going through the level again. It was somewhere between eleven and eleven-thirty and Greg sure as hell wasn't ready for bed yet.

"Wanna go again?" asked Nick, echoing his thought.

Greg ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. With the lack of hair gel, it fell right back into his face.

"Nah, you go ahead. I'll just watch," he said, heaving himself up into the chair.

Nick shrugged and picked up the controller, immediately launching himself back into the world of the Force.

Another hour passed in an abnormally short amount of time, and Greg was properly snockered. Nick managed to get passed the stubborn level, only dying twice. He was four more ahead.

The colors of the game blurred together in Greg's eyes and he was enjoying the sleepy feeling that the alcohol gave him.

Another explosion rocked the room, oddly loud. He jumped, almost feeling the fire from it.

"Nick, could you turn it down? I don't want my neighbors getting pissed and reporting me." Greg yawned widely, noting that his speech was running together.

"Sure."

He didn't say it, but the other reason Greg wanted him to turn it down was because now, explosions scared him. TV, movie, or game. They sent him back to the lab before he realized what had happened. His hands trembled from the latest mini-flashback, and he clenched them unconsciously in an attempt to stop it. Unfortunately, Nick looked back just in time to see it.

"Dude, ya'll right?" he asked, his words slurring a little. "You been actin' kinda funny."

"Mm-hmm. Jus' don' like explosions," responded the lab rat sleepily.

"I guess I could understand that, but you been acting off all day."

"Been having bad dreams ever since getting back from the hospital," Greg replied, "Crap from my past."

The younger man realized what he'd said and looked mortified. His mouth snapped shut and he looked down at his lap.

"G, what happened?" Nick asked, looking up at his friend. Concern filled his blue eyes.

"I haven't talked about it, ever and I'm fine. Why go into it?" Greg avoided the question.

"You have to talk about it sometime," the senior CSI told him, thinking back to when he'd told Catherine.

For a moment, Greg faltered, on the edge of telling. Nick chose this time to ask.

"Greg, what happened at the bank?"

When Greg looked at Nick, his entire body was shaking, not just his hands. His emerald eyes were dark with anger and shame, his face flushed a brilliant scarlet.

"How…? Who the hell do you think you _are?"_ he demanded, voice breaking. "What… right do you have to ask that? You've been here for, what, twenty-four hours and you want me to tell you my life story?!"

Greg tried to get up and storm out, but his stitches made it too difficult to get up and pain shot through his body when he moved wrong. He waited for it to pass and settled on a stony glare at Nick.

"I hope I'm your friend, Greg. I just want to help."

"Then where do you get off asking about my private life? I don't ask you things like that!"

Tears came to Greg's eyes again, but he didn't bother to wipe them away this time. Nick sat there, waiting.

"You want to know why I'm skittish?! You want to know _why_ I have trust and anger issues like this?!" Greg's voice raised in crescendo, growing a little firmer as well. "It's all because of Kent Kramer!"

There. He'd consciously said the name aloud. He waited for lightening to strike him dead, but nothing happened.

"What did he do?" Nick pressed him.

Greg relaxed into his recliner and set tired eyes on his friend.

"What the hell do you think he did, Nick? He came into the bank, guns blazing and took us all hostage, shooting one of us every hour on the hour to make sure the cops knew they meant business."

By the tone of his voice and his expression, Nick knew Greg wasn't telling the whole story.

"Was that _all_ he did?" prompted Nick.

"Of course not," Greg sighed wearily. When he spoke again, his voice cracked. "He… he raped me."

* * *

TBC… 


	6. Chapter 6

_If You Can't Stand the Heat - Chapter Six_

**_Author's Notes:_** Sorry, guys. I killed my laptop and had to get it fixed, otherwise, I wouldn't have left you hanging with such a lame-ass, wannabe cliffhanger. Blech. Anyway, on with it. You know what to do.

**_Disclaimer:_** In the short amount of time that I have been gone, _surely_ you all haven't forgotten that I _do not fcking own CSI_. Thank you and goodnight. …for the record… I don't own Hefty garbage bags either.

**_Warnings:_** violence and language, of course. As if you couldn't tell by the damn disclaimer though.

* * *

_Eighteen year old Greg Sanders stood in a waiting line with his mother, looking incredibly bored. His brown hair was neatly combed, red t-shirt tucked in and his jeans free of stains. He bent down, nothing better to do, and redid the frayed laces of his Doc Martins._

His mother, Irene Sanders, was standing next to her son, checking her watch. Her reddish hair bobbed with the slight movement, fluttering into her eyes.

"Just a few more minutes," she promised her boy.

Greg just nodded. It would probably be another twenty minutes before a teller would help them. There were seven other people in front of them, and another six behind them. Greg knew; he'd counted everyone four times for something to do. There were two tellers, making the grand total seventeen, including themselves, of course.

The big glass doors that made up the entrance opened and Greg didn't hide the amused smirk on his face. These newcomers had quite a wait in store for them.

"_Everyone on the floor!!"_ someone yelled.

At first, no one reacted, just looked around with a mix of amusement and annoyance on their faces. Were these people joking? The man in front of Greg actually chuckled, causing the boy to smile and turn around.

The smile faded. Four men in masks fanned out and took care of the security cameras hidden in corners. Other customers looked on, waiting for someone to be singled out and told that they'd been 'punk'd' by a friend.

There was one man still standing at the entrance, hard eyes glaring. They landed on Greg, whose stomach flopped.

"I told everyone to _get on the fucking floor!"_ his pink slash of a mouth yelled again, through the hole in his mask.

To prove that he wasn't messing around, the man brought out a long barreled gun out from behind him and let off a short, three-round burst at the ceiling. A few chunks of plaster and dust rained down, indicating that the gun was definitely real.

Point proven.

All seventeen people (minus the would-be robbers) hit the floor simultaneously.

"On your stomachs, hands on your ass!" the man ordered.

Again, everyone complied. Greg was bewildered. He thought this kind of thing never happened, except in movies. Well, that wasn't true. He'd heard of real bank heists, but these kinds of things didn't happen to him and his family. They happened to other people.

Cameras taken care of, the other four men joined the obvious leader. There was murmuring amongst them, then two shot off together past the civilians.

Greg took all this in, hands folded behind his back. He'd raised his head enough to look around at the commotion. There was a panicked sort of whispering to his left and he turned to see his mother mouthing, "Get back down!" at him.

Clunky footsteps thudded on the floor so hard, Greg felt the vibrations in his body. He glanced back at the entrance, but instead was surprised to see a booted pair of feet in front of his face.

"Are we having a nice little chat?"

The voice was low, gravelly, menacing and it belonged to the leader. Greg strained to tog et a better look at the speaker. His efforts were rewarded with the sight of long, baggy cargo pants, a hunter green long sleeved shirt, black leather gloves, a black ski mask… and a boot flying at his face.

Greg hissed in surprise and jerked back. It wasn't fast enough, but it took away some of the impact when it came. The toe caught his left cheek just hard enough to leave a decent-sized bruise. Next to him, his mother let out a shout of protest.

"Leave him alone!"

This earned his mom a kick as well. A hard one to the side. She let out a whoosh of air as nit left her lungs.

"Stop it!" this time, it was Greg who yelled.

The leader looked down at Greg with icy green eyes. Once met with Greg's, they locked. His eyes struck the boy with what felt like x-rays; able to see straight through him, yet revealing nothing about who they belonged to.

All the fight went out of him after a few seconds of trying to stare down the leader, a hrad thing to achieve from the floor. Greg lowered his forehead to the cool floor and closed his eyes, hoping that he wouldn't try kicking him again.

After a moment, he opened them again to check on his mother. She stared back at him, angry and scared, shaking her head to indicate no more outbursts from him. He nodded once to show he understood.

There were more footsteps, belonging to the leader, as well as the other men. A couple of terrified moans could be heard when one of the robbers walked a little too close to someone.

Off in the distance, outside, Greg thought he heard police sirens. But that couldn't be. Surely the bank tellers knew better than to call the cops. Better to let the robbers take the money and run, _then_ call the cops. Every movie that dealt with a robbery (that Greg had seen) was specific about dealing with the law.

To his dread, the sirens grew louder until the bad guys noticed them as well. Through the window, Greg even saw flashing red, white, and blue lights coming at an alarming speed.

Apparently, so did the robbers. One of them --not the leader-- swore loudly.

"Boss, we got company," said another.

Now 'Boss' swore. He spun around d to face the service counter. His eyes said death as he strode over. The tellers, like everyone else, were on the floor behind the counter, out of sight of the robbers.

"Which one of you bitches triggered the alarm?" he snarled, brandishing his weapon.

Greg couldn't see, but one of the women must have said or signaled that she'd done it because Boss hauled his gun over the counter and let off another three round burst. Everyone screamed and covered their heads with their arms. When Boss turned around, he was covered with a light mist of the lady's blood.

"Anyone else gonna try something cute?" he demanded, taking a few long strides to back to the center of the room. "Boys! Pow-wow, now!"

At once, the other four --dressed to match their leader-- were gathered. They muttered to each other, but if Greg tried, he could catch snatches of their conversation. What he did hear wasn't happy.

"Change of plans. Roy, get what money you can. Bob, you help him. Just bag it up for a quick getaway. Doug, Mitch, you watch the hostages."

"What about you?"

"I'll handle the cops. You just worry about your jobs."

After that, their voices got lower to the point of not being able to be eavesdropped on anymore, but Greg had heard enough already.

Heart pounding, the boy pretended not to have been listening. Boss knew otherwise. A minute later, a toe dug into his arm.

"You, get up."

It took a moment to register, but Greg got shakily to his feet. His mother was set to follow, but Doug (or Mitch) took their job seriously and kept a foot planted on the woman's back to keep her down.

Boss laid a heavy hand on Greg's shoulder and held it tightly to steer him over to the large windows. Greg felt like this was something out of a movie and still half expected a director to pop out of hiding and yell, "Cut!"

The cops pulled up to a screeching halt. Boss shoved his young hostage in front of him to act as a human shield. Three squad cars, two cops in each one. That made six cops. Greg did the math in his head to keep from going into hysterics. He'd noticed his hands were shaking when Boss hauled him to his feet. He shoved them in his pockets to in an attempt to hide them. Behind him, Boss noticed and grinned.

The police leapt out of their cars, guns drawn and pointing at the windows. There was a soft 'click!' near Greg's temple, a loud scream from his mother, and when the teenager looked, he as insanely glad that he'd used the bathroom shortly before this began. He would have wet his pants at the long gun barrel pointed at his eye.

Instead, Greg's knees went weak and his head grew light. He began to fall, scared shitless. A thick arm around his waist held him up and against Boss's chest. Directly in his ear, he heard a amused snort.

"You're a regular fearless tiger, ain't ya?" the voice dripped with sarcasm.

Before Greg could respond to this with a remark that would probably get him shot in the knee or some other spot that would incapacitate instead of kill, a cop reached into his car and pulled out a megaphone. He switched it on and began to talk.

"_Release your hostages and come out with your hands up!"_

Boss laughed, a sound that rumbled on Greg's back. He let go of Greg long enough to flip all of the cops the bird. Then, instead of holding him at the waist again, Boss grabbed Greg by the collar with his gun hand. With the free one, he outstretched his pinky and thumb and put it to his ear.

"Call. Me," he said loudly, pronouncing each word slowly to be sure they could read his lips through the glass.

Boss then backed away, making sure to keep his firearm trained on Greg at all time. He tossed the boy back to the floor, where he landed hard. He rolled onto his back and stared up at Boss. The gun muzzle touched his nose, looking more like a shiny, black cannon from this angle.

"Don't try anything stupid, kid," he said.

"I'm not a kid!" Greg retorted before he could remember to keep his big mouth shut.

"Gregory _James!!"_ his mother exclaimed.

Boss turned to her and Greg's stomach plummeted.

"Lady, you shoulda taught your _kid_ some manners," he snapped, pointing the gun at her.

Luckily, the situation wouldn't escalate. A phone rang.

"Roy, keep an eye on these two."

The other man came over to the mother and son to take Boss's place. As Greg let out a breath of relief, the leader reached over the counter and picked up the receiver. He cradled it between his ear and shoulder.

"Hi!" he said brightly into it. He hitched a hip on counter and leaned back. "Talk to me!"

Greg stared.

There was a pause before he spoke again. This time, all pretense was put aside.

"Nuh-uh. Ain't gonna work like that. The hostages all stay in here. This was _supposed_ to be a simple smash-and-grab, but one of the tellers decided to be a little hero and call _you_. She paid, of course," Boss looked bored, and made a show of checking his nails, knowing that the cops outside could see his every move.

Another pause. Boss rolled his eyes at one of his guys and nodded at the phone. He made his free hand flap, like someone's mouth that was talking too much. The thug smiled and shook his head. Outside, Greg could see the cop's face flush a little.

"_Now_ you're talkin', buddy!" Boss covered the mouthpiece, grinning. He said to his goonies, "He asked what we want!" He went back to the phone. "We need transportation and guaranteed safe passage outta here."

Boss's eyes traveled around the room. They landed on Greg.

"Nope. Until then, we're going to kill one hostage every hour, understood?"

Another pause. "Right. Uh-huh. Correct. We're going to need our transport at the back in thirty minutes."

Greg watched the bald, moustached police chief talk into the cell phone. His face was still flushed and he wiped a meaty hand across his sweat-glistening forehead. He was pacing behind the open squad car door. Greg glanced back at his mom.

"Greg, honey, you okay?" she asked, eyes probing. Her voice was barely above a breath.

He nodded, then turned his eyes back to Boss. The man chuckled once and then grew serious.

"Like I said: ain't gonna happen that way. We need a van or truck or something that can hold at least nine or ten people." A pause. "Okay, half the hostages can go as a sign of good faith." Pause. "No, the rest we keep as insurance. We'll release them when we reach our destination and they will not be harm unless they fight. You have half an hour."

Boss dropped the phone back onto the cradle with a clatter and waved at the cops outside with a bright grin.

"You know, they're not going to cooperate, right, Boss?" asked Mitch (or Doug. They all looked the same).

"Yeah, I know," the leader said, his eyes glinting mischievously. "But it'll give them something to do for a while."

Doug (and Mitch) chuckled a little.

"Not like we're gonna worry about hostages anyway, right?" called Roy, who was still busily stuffing money into a Hefty bag. He'd gotten the remaining teller to open the safe. Bob, the other guy, was finishing off the money from the drawers.

The hostages in question gasped, while a few others let out terrified little squeaks that were silenced with on of Boss's death glares. Greg felt his mother's hand scrabble over to grasp on of her son's.

Greg, however, never took his eyes off the robber after that for a long time. He watch his every move. Noticed how the left corner of his mouth twitched before he spoke to one of the other men. He saw the double blink what Boss looked around the room. The tattoo his restless hand beat on his thigh; tap-tap tap-tap-tap tap-tap. Over and over. It was a thing that Greg would never forget.

Boss caught the boy's eyes, gazes locking.

"You gotta problem, kid?" he said, fingering the trigger of his weapon.

Very slowly, Greg shook his head.

"Din't your momma teach you that it's not polite to stare?"

Now the boy nodded.

"Then why the hell are you still staring at me, you goddamned little bitch?" he roared.

Greg quickly lowered his eyes quickly, but not before Boss came over and gave him a solid kick to the ribs.

His mother cried out with her son, begging the leader to stop while the boy was gasping for air. She wasn't alone. There were several more pleas from various other captives that were quickly squashed by another look from Boss. He got down close enough to Greg so that he could speak only to him.

"Kid, you're gonna be in _real_ trouble if you don't shape up, ya understand?"

Greg nodded, coughing and holding his chest. He tried to keep his forehead touching the cool marble floor at the same time. Not exactly an easy feat, but he managed.

"Good." Boss got up and Greg felt the vibrating thuds as he walked away. He let out a wheezy breath of relief.

"Boss! One hour down!" one of his guys said after glancing at the clock above the doors. "Which one you wanna waste?"

Sharp green eyes surveyed the floor, looking at each individual person. The women all screamed, the men tried to look brave instead of terrified. Greg didn't know what do. He kept himself pressed to the floor, not daring a glance at Boss.

Footsteps coming his way. Heart quickened, body tightened and eyes squeezed closed when a gloved hand reached down and grabbed… the old man who'd been standing in line in front of Greg and his mother.

The boy let out a gasp when the man hauled his victim to his feet. He dragged the old man to the giant windows and put the gun to his head. The old man stared back defiantly, standing straight up, shoulders square. He decided he'd go out with some dignity. He wasn't afraid.

"You're scum," he said in his old voice and spit in Boss's face.

"You're dead."

And Boss pulled the trigger.

This time --men included-- screamed at the loud, echoing shot. There was a disgusting splat, accompanied by the sight of white bone, red blood and grey bits of brain as it hit the window. The old man's body remained standing for a moment before collapsing to the floor, where the blood began to pool around his head.

* * *

**_ARTISTIC NOTE:_** I wrestled with the idea of italicizing this whole chapter… You know, for looks. shrugs

**_Another Note:_** Goddamned Mary Sues…. grumbles How many people can the crime lab hire without suffocating themselves? yelling to Mary Sue writers LET THE CSI BOYS LOVE _EACH OTHER!!!!_ NOT YOU!!! resumes normal voice Okay, I'm better now. You all should have seen the original draft of this rant. Whew!

Until next time!  
Jillian


	7. Chapter 7

_If You Can't Stand the Heat… - Chapter Seven_

**_Author's Note:_** Arigato, Lovely reviews. I really enjoyed reading them.

**_Disclaimer:_** Own nothing, yadda yadda… Shaddup…

_**WARNING:**_

_Slightly graphic scenes coming up. If you're offended, then please, for both our sakes, turn back now. You don't want to be offended, and I don't want to be reported. Thank you._

* * *

'_Okay, so we've established the well known fact that cops are useless,'_ thought Greg, sarcastically.

He had to remain sarcastic. Otherwise he'd break down and cry like a baby.

The bad guys had wasted another four hostages, meaning that four hours had gone by with no further useful contact with the police chief.

"For the love of god, will someone _please_ give these guys a car?!" he wanted to shriek.

Of course, the teenager didn't say anything. He tried to keep his head down, not wanting Boss to have _any _reason to be near again.

"Boss, they're not going to cooperate," said one of his friends (Greg had given up trying to tell them apart about two hours ago).

"Idiot! You think I don't know that?" he snarled back. "I figured the cops would dick around like this."

Boss lowered his voice to mumble something along the lines of cursing this damn district.

"I don't like it. We should grab one hostage and get out of here." the man said, ignoring the shouts of protest from the group on the floor.

The leader perched himself on the bank counter, left leg curled beneath him. He rested his elbow on his knee, and slouched, giving his body a long, lanky look. He stroked his chin, thinking.

"You might have a point, Mitchy-boy," Boss said, giving him a pointed look.

"I know I have a point! If we screw around here any longer, the cops'll find a way in and shut us down real quick!" Mitch went on. "We got the money, so let's get the hell out of here!"

Boss went quiet again, still thinking. They _did_ have all the money in the bank, as well as the safety deposit boxes, wallets, purses and jewelry of everyone in the bank. There really was no reason that they ought to hang out here any longer.

"All right," the leader finally said, glancing at his partners. "Pack up, boys. We're moving out."

Greg felt the tension in the room ease and heard collective sighs of relief, but Boss wasn't done yet. He got up, holding his gun and glaring at everyone on the floor.

"We'll take the kid with us. He'll enjoy the ride," his last sentence was said to Greg

Greg's stomach dropped and his heart leaped into his throat. Boss hauled him to his feet, as if he weighed no more than a sack of potatoes. He ignored his mother's screams no heed

"Roy, Bob, you guys take care of the rest of the hostages. Mitch, get the money, and Doug, you make sure we have a clear path outta here."

Boss gave the orders, clear and precise, as if he'd rehearsed them a couple times. From a large pocket in his khakis, Boss produced a thick roll of duct tape.

"Let go of me!" demanded Greg, struggling.

He let his body go limp, hoping the man's grip would slip. No such luck. Instead of getting away, Boss slammed him to the floor, face-first. The teenager saw stars on impact.

Greg felt his arms being yanked behind his back and something warm and wet was running down his face from his nose. He tried once to buck Boss off of him. The heavier man growled and knocked Greg's head hard on the floor with one hand. Everything went black.

* * *

The next time his green eyes flickered open, the first thing Greg saw was three mask-clad faces staring down at him. He was aware of the fact that he was laying on his side on the floor.

"Wakey wakey, kiddo," one of them said.

"Where am I?" he groaned.

"Doesn't matter, does it?" someone said. Immediately Greg recognized the voice as belonging to Boss.

"Where's my mom?" asked Greg, looking around.

"Again, doesn't matter," came the reply.

Boss walked into Greg's line of vision, covered with what looked like blood. The sight made Greg want to gag violently. He began to struggle as the older man got closer, only to find that his hands were bound by the duct tape, as well as his ankles.

"Hold him down," ordered Boss.

At once, three pairs of hands came down on Greg's chest, shoulders and legs. Boss knelt down near his captive's shoulders, holding something in his left hand. After a few seconds, Greg's numb mind managed to process that it was a wallet. _His_ wallet.

Greg opened his mouth to speak as the bank robber rifled through his pictures. He stopped on a particular one and slid it out of the protective casing.

"Who is this?" demanded Boss, showing him the photo of a boy of about Greg's age. He had short, brown hair, brown eyes, and, Greg thought, the cutest smile on earth.

"Trey. He's my… friend," the boy answered truthfully.

"His 'friend'," Boss repeated mockingly. Then he sobered. "What kind of guy keeps a picture of another guy in his wallet? Are you a fag?"

"No! He's just my best friend!" Greg's voice almost broke, but he managed to keep it steady a moment longer.

Boss sneered, "I still think you're a fag."

"I'm not!"

"Boys, leave us. And turn off the lights."

"Sure, Boss. We're gonna get outta here first thing in the morning though, right?"

"Yeah, first thing," Boss replied, leering down at Greg, who tried to make himself as small as possible.

The lights flickered off and they both hear the door snap shut. Then Boss was on him.

_His pants were suddenly down to his ankles and the duct tape was being torn off. His arms were crushed uncomfortably under his back. He tried kick at Boss._

_Boss yanked the jeans the rest of the way off and unbuttoned his own fly. _

"_Please, don't do this," Greg said, trying to work his arms free. The only response he received was a hard backhand to his face. _

_Stubble scraping between his throat and shoulders. Grunting in his ear as Boss thrust into him mercilessly. Hands rubbing over his chest and stomach. Boss's right hand slid down Greg's hip to wrap around him. Greg gasped and tried again to buck the other man of him. Pain shot through him, up to his chest, when Boss thrust particularly hard as punishment. _

_Lips sucked hard on Greg's throat and he twisted, trying to get away from them. He choked back a sob when Boss began stoking him in tune with his own movements. He pulled hard at the duct tape holding his wrists together. Tension built in Greg's shoulders from the amount of pressure he was putting on the appendages by laying on them. His left began to ache horribly, making him almost nauseas. Finally, it popped loudly and pain flared for a moment before it went numb. _

Even Boss started at how loud it was, but he didn't pay it much more attention than that. He groaned on top of Greg as he reached his climax, he made sure Greg came, too, in his hand. He smirked down at him.

"_What'd you think of _that_?" he demanded, pulling out and collapsing next to his captive. _

Greg fought the urge to throw up and turned his back on Boss, clawing for his discarded pants as best he could. He ignored how his shoulder felt like it exploded every time he moved it.

"_Not so fast," Boss grabbed the younger man's hands and pulled him back. "You didn't think we were done so quick, did you?"_

_

* * *

__**TBC...** _

_If you wouldn't mind, in your review (if you do) could you please describe my writing style? Thanks!_


	8. Chapter 8

_If You Can't Stand the Heat… - Chapter Eight_

**_Author's Notes:_** Thank you for all your reviews! There was one or two that particularly caught my attention. Even one that made me blush and smile.

TO _FVHARDY:_ Heh heh. Guys don't _always_ do it doggy style. I _loved_ your review! I don't think I'll go into detail, but if you read some heavier slash, you can find out WAAAAY more than what you ever want to know is possible.

**_Disclaimer:_** Blah blah. Yadda yadda. Don't own. No sue.

* * *

_

* * *

When Greg regained consciousness, he found that he was sticky and sore in places that shouldn't be. He felt filthy and used._

_A wave of memories crashed down on him and tears sprang to his eyes. He drew his knees to his chest, wincing at the pain the slight movement caused. He wrapped his unbound arms around them and hid his face. The sobs came quick and hard, along with thoughts of last night._

_Was he all alone? Where was his mother? Was she even alive? Where was he, for that matter?_

_Greg looked at his surroundings for the first time, fighting back hiccupping sobs. He was in a small, dingy white room with one window. It kind of looked like a closet, except it had a window. An almost bare wooden door was directly opposite of it. There was a note tacked to the wood. _

_Slowly, cautiously, Greg got to his feet, wiping his eyes on a shirtsleeve. He moved towards it until he could touch the paper. He tore it off the tack and read it. Horror hit him._

"_Tell anyone, and I will hunt you down. _

_ Cheers,  
__ Your friend"_

_

* * *

_

* * *

"I went to the hospital alone. It wasn't a very far walk, but it…hurt. I had no idea how much time had passed, (I think it was a night) but there were other people from the bank. They hadn't managed to kill them all. There were still streaks of blood on the walls from some of the victims. The doctors hadn't had the time to clean a lot up yet.

"I remember one woman actually had to be restrained when the doctor told her that her husband was dead," Greg broke off, shuddering as his mind's eye pictured her writhing body on the gurney. He took a moment to collect himself and went on in a dead sort of voice. "After I was admitted, my mother was moved to my room. I found out that she'd been shot when she tried to stop them from taking me."

Nick listened hard, watching his friend's pale face contort with various emotions, shame being the most prominent one. He put a hand on Greg's knee and squeezed.

"Didn't you ever tell anyone?" he asked softly.

Greg shook his head.

"Not even my mom. I was eighteen, and I asked the doctors not to tell my mother. They honored the doctor/patient confidentiality," the lab tech let out a sigh. "You're the first I actually talked about it to. They got him on DNA charges from what he left on me, but they didn't tell him which victim the evidence was from, but he knew anyway. I didn't even participate in the trial. That was when I found out his name was Kent Kramer."

At the name, Greg stopped speaking and looked away from Nick, plucking at his blanket. He pulled his legs up onto the chair and sat Indian style.

"You just pretended nothing happened and willed it away, huh?" the Texan said in a knowing tone that caused Greg to turn back to Nick with a questioning expression.

"Yeah, me too," Nick sighed, replying to the younger man's unasked question.

"How old were you?"

"Nine."

When Nick answered, Greg seemed to explode in a fit of rage.

"What kind of bastard does that to a nine year old?! He demanded, his eyes blazed and for a moment, the lab tech was back to his old self.

"Greg, it takes a sick person to do anything like that to anyone, regardless of their age," Nick explained gently.

The younger man settled back into his chair, seeming deflated. His eyes suddenly welled up with tears. Greg swore quietly and rubbed them away with the corner of his blanket.

"He wasn't sick. He was right," he sniffed, hiding his face.

"What the hell do you mean, 'he was right'?" Nick demanded, outraged. "This sicko kidnapped you, and then tortured you! What the hell was he 'right' about?!"

Greg shrank back a little, away from the other man when he yelled, but didn't lift his head.

"He was right when he called me a fag," Greg admitted miserably. "Trey wasn't only my best friend. He was my boyfriend."

"So what? That doesn't mean he was ri--"

"_He_ scared me so badly, I broke up with him the first and only time he visited me in the hospital. He… scared me straight, I guess."

Nick tried to get a look at his friend's face, but could see nothing.

"Greg…"

"Don't say it's okay, 'cause it's not," the lab tech muttered, finally looking up. "After that, Trey hated me because I couldn't give him a good enough reason why I didn't want to be with him."

Greg didn't voice the obvious hurt he still felt for his decision, but it was in his eyes clearly. They filled with tears again, and this time, Greg let them fall freely, weeping like a broken man.

"Come here," said Nick, overwhelmed. He wanted to cry with his friend, but held strong for him.

Obediently, Greg inched forward and slid to the floor next to Nick. He adjusted the blanket around his shoulders so it wasn't stretching so tight against his stitches.

Before Greg could protest, Nick pulled him closer and wrapped him up in a strong, safe hug, minding the injuries on the younger man's back.

Greg let himself be held. He still fought against the waves of grief crashing down on him, but was slowly drowning in them.

In the end, the young man broke down in silent sobs that had his injured body shaking violently. Though he didn't realize it at the time, his fear and anger were being washed away by his tears.

The entire time, Nick simply held the smaller man quietly, never saying a word, but letting him know he was safe. Nothing would happen while he was there. They stayed that way until Greg cried himself exhausted. Nick smiled when he felt Greg's breathing slow from sharp hiccups, to even, deep breaths.

The Texan shifted a little so he could stand, then picked up his friend bridal style. Nick was halfway through the hallway when he heard a sleepy grunt.

"Where we goin'?" Greg asked without opening his eyes. "And why do people insist on carrying me?"

"You're going to bed. And I'm carrying you because you're sleeping."

"Mm, I don' wanna go to bed," murmured Greg, unconsciously snuggling closer to Nick's strong chest.

"Yeah, ya do, cowboy," replied Nick with a smile. "You're tired."

"'m not tired."

"I know you're not," Nick humored him, setting the Greg down gently on the bed, "But you need to go to sleep anyway. You haven't had a good night's sleep since before the hospital."

Greg murmured something about nightmares and fire before rolling onto his side, one arm curling under his pillow, the other held close to his chest.

Nic tugged the sheets and blue(?) comforter out from underneath Greg's legs and drew them up over his shoulders. He was at the door when Greg called him back.

"Um, hey, Nick?" he asked, sounding more awake.

"Yep?"

The one in question turned around to look at the DNA tech. He was sitting up now, the blankets dropped to his waist, exposing his grey wife beater.

"Could you… I mean-- I wouldn't tell anyone if… And I understand completely if you say no."

In the nightlight's glow, Nick saw the younger man's green eyes drop and he rubbed one bare shoulder with his bandaged hand.

"C'mon, G, spit it out."

"Couldyousleepinherewithme?" asked Greg, so fast, it took a minute for Nick to process the question. So long, in fact, that Greg thought he'd mortally offended the other man. "You don't have to, it's okay. I mean, I understand. I know it'd be weird and all, sleeping in another guy's bed, I'd probably say no, too. You--"

"G, shut it!" Nick said, and Greg recoiled. "I swear, sometimes you talk so fast, I can't understand you!"

"But--"

"I get where you're coming from, so hush up and breath while I go get my pillow from the living room," the shadows his Nick's smile.

Slowly, Greg nodded, amazed at what had just transpired. He was easing himself back down onto his own pillow when Nick came back. Greg bit his lower lip when he sat down and the movement of the bed went straight through his sore, cramped shoulders.

They got themselves situated quickly and were silent for a while. It was Greg who broke it.

"You're sure you're okay with this?" he asked uncertainly.

"Yep, like I said, 'just like a sleepover but without--"

Nick was cut off by a pillow to the face.

"Oh, that was _real_ cute, Greg," Nick growled, smiling as he tossed the pillow back in front of the lab tech. "You got change comin' for that one."

"Go to sleep, Nick," Greg yawned to hide a smile of his own. He ran a hand through his hair and adjusted his feather-filled weapon

In a matter of minutes, the young lab rat was fast asleep, followed closely by the Texan. And for the first time in weeks, Greg had no nightmares.

* * *

FINIS 

This is the last installment, but there might be a sequel if you want. (If I want, which I might. Closure issues and all that jazz… Whatever happened to Kramer and all that. No worried though.)


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